19 Years Between: Humble Beginnings
by onlybythen1ght
Summary: It all begins with a cafe... First in the 19 Years Between series reboot (only 8 years in the making) filling in the blanks between the final chapter of DH and the Epilogue. Cannon compliant.
Harry Potter, defeater of Voldemort and youngest Auror ever, was nervous. He stood outside the cafe in the heart of London for several moments working up the courage to go inside.

 _It's just coffee. You're not asking her to marry you, idiot_.

Inhaling deeply, he yanked the door open and immediately began scanning the room for the familiar sight of bright red hair.

'Harry! Harry! Over here!'

 _It's just coffee_. _It's just coffee and chatter and Merlin's saggy testicle she's beautiful_.

The mere sight of her made his stomach twist into knots. She was rosier than she had been the last time they'd met, her face exuding cheeriness and sunshine and life despite the gloomy weather outside. Even in the few short weeks since they'd seen one another, quidditch practices had melted away the last vestiges of youthful roundness about her, leaving her as a stunning young woman.

She stood to embrace him. 'You look good. I like the trousers—grey suits you.'

He held the embrace for just a moment longer inhaling her scent before letting go. 'Thanks. Same to you, you look really fit.'

They sat, the awkwardness between them settling over immediately. It had been like this more often recently, both understanding what needed to be said but neither one saying it, instead letting it linger over them like a pregnant storm cloud.

'Busy at the ministry?' she asked. Harry watched as she dunked her biscuit in cappuccino a few times before looking at him. He shifted nervously under her gaze, cautiously stealing the ginger biscuit off her plate.

He shrugged. He _really_ didn't want to talk about work right then. 'I suppose.' The silence engulfed them immediately. 'How's practice?'

She shrugged. 'It's alright. I could do without the five a.m. runs, though.' She smiled at him, making him blush.

They made pointless small talk for what felt like ages as she sipped her cappuccino and he his tea, smiling stupidly at one another when the silence overcame them once more. Harry was just about to ask her about living with the team when she sighed loudly.

'Look, I think we can agree that small talk is the absolute worst.' He set his teacup back on the saucer and deliberated over how to continue when she spoke again. 'It has to be said: we _shagged_. It happened, and I don't know about you but I'm tired of pussy-footing around it, yeah?'

Harry stared at her, mouth agape as if he'd been slapped. _She just came right out and said it, didn't she? Always blunt, Ginny._

She seemed to take his silence as a sign to continue. 'It's just that you ignored me for _weeks_ after and I began to think you'd changed your mind about me because, I don't know, maybe you thought I was a slag or something, and it _hurt_ , you know? And then we started having these dates more often and things started to turn around but they're always so _awkward_ that I just can't stand it any longer. You know how I feel, Harry. I just want to know where we go from here.'

She bit her lip, watching him closely. He observed her nervously tear the napkin apart as she waited for him to say something. His brain was going a mile a minute, trying to comprehend how simple coffee had turned into them airing dirty laundry. He had known that they would have to speak of that night eventually but he had been hoping that eventually would be some time in the very distant future. Or perhaps never. Never was good.

His mouth must have been working faster than his brain when he found himself speaking. 'Tell me how you really feel, Ginny.' He smirked, stealing another ginger biscuit off her plate.

She scowled at him, and he cursed his stupid mouth for acting on its own accord. Of course he would say something cheeky during an adult conversation with his intended girlfriend.

Before he knew what was happening, she was storming out of the cafe into the rain, his pleas for her to come back falling on deaf ears.

He tugged at his hair. Should he give her space to calm down? Should he chase her? The answer seemed obvious as he donned his jacket and ran down the street after her.

He saw her up ahead on the other side of the street, striding purposefully in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. He pushed past an older woman, ignoring her indignant huff as he made his way down the busy sidewalk towards her. He deftly dodged traffic as he ran amidst shouts and honking, shouting her name.  
'Ginny! Ginny! Wait up! You didn't give me a chance to explain.'

She turned to face him, arms crossed. He couldn't help but admire the way her eyes flash as he drew closer, or the way her wet hair stuck to her face. They stood, staring at one another in the rain running in rivulets down their faces and drenching their clothes.

 _Say something_.

'Can we get out of the rain, please?' she asks hopefully, blinking droplets out of her eyes. He grabs her hand, leading her to an alleyway down a side street, apparating the moment they turn the corner. They reappear in the entryway of number twelve, dripping on the carpet runner.

He kicks off his shoes and starts towards the kitchen, motioning for her to follow.

'Ron and Hermione are out with her parents; we have the house to ourselves. C'mon, let's get out of these wet clothes.'

The second the words are out of his mouth he wished he could gather them up again. They could be taken too many ways. On the one hand, they said that they could have a conversation without Ron breathing down their necks. On the other hand, it sounded like they could do any number of things without Ron breathing down their necks _without clothing_.

Stepping into the kitchen he peeled off his wet shirt, tossing it into the scullery. Ginny stood at the doorway, blushing as he caught her looking at his chest.

'Hermione has some clothes down here if you'd like to get out of those wet ones.' He ducks out to go to his room to get out of wet pants. Returning to the kitchen, he busies himself with making tea in an effort to focus on something other than Ginny in a state of undress mere steps away from where he stands.

 _No, you need to talk to her. Think with the big head, not the little one_.

Just as the water finished boiling, she shuffles into the kitchen clad in Ron's old Chudley Cannon's shirt and nothing more.

 _Ginevra Weasley will be the death of me._

"So," she began. She sits at the table, folding her arms and looking at him expectantly. He sits across from her, eying her cautiously.

"So," he replied. Smiling, he lifted the cup and blew on it. "Shagging."

She blushes at the word, her boldness from the cafe absent in the silent kitchen.

 _Why was walking to my death easier than this? Move your mouth, form words. Just speak, get it over with_.

'I don't think you're a slag.' Her head shot up at his words, her gaze boring into his very core.

'Well, that's a relief,' she replied, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, 'but why the silent treatment?'

He thought about that for a moment—why _had_ he given her the silent treatment afterwards? He remembered the morning like it was yesterday and how overwhelmingly _happy_ he'd felt, but as the gravity of what they'd done settled in he'd felt a staggering amount of guilt. He'd ruined their first time—he'd cheapened it when it should have been beautiful. He couldn't even remember most of it other than her being everywhere all at once. Well, if they were being honest...

'I was worried that you would hate me for ruining your first time,' he says finally. He can't look at her in that moment; the guilt threatens to overwhelm him again drowning him in second guesses over what happened. _It was a drunken mistake_.

The clock in the hallway chimed three. Harry was sure that he could hear his neighbors down the street having a conversation, the room was so silent. Inside he was pleading with her to say something, but dreading anything that might come out of her mouth.

'You didn't ruin it,' she whispers into the silent room, so quiet he barely hears her. She looks at him now. 'And I don't hate you; I don't think I could ever hate you.'

His heart leaps into his throat as he reaches across the table to capture her face between his, kissing her delicately. Her hands reach up to grasp his wrists, kissing him back once the initial shock of his actions subsides.

She begins to climb onto the table in an effort to get closer to him, his hands falling from her face to her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens. Reaching his side of the table, she wraps her legs around his hips, securing herself to him. Harry has never felt happier.

In one move he picks her up and begins towards his bedroom, her kisses trailing down his face to his neck and onto his shoulders as they walk.

 _The big head has thought enough for today, I guess_.

He practically throws her on his bed, her red hair cascading over his sheets haphazardly, a fiery halo around her flushed cheeks.

'What do you say we forget last time ever happened and start anew?' he asks as he stands over her, fighting the urge to crawl into the bed and never leave.

'I think I would love that,' she chuckles, pulling him by the shirt hem on top of her.


End file.
